


A Thing for You

by protostar (variablestar)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, M/M, i needed to write so here's this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 00:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variablestar/pseuds/protostar
Summary: This is when it starts to get bright — the sun is vibrant and Suna’s music is floating in from the kitchen, and Bokuto Koutarou comes in with the most radiant smile Keiji’s ever seen.Keiji is kind of completely crushing on the regular at his bakery.





	A Thing for You

            There are very few things Keiji loves quite as much as the bakery in the early morning.

 

            It’s always quiet, with just the low hum of the heat kicking on and the mechanical whir of the electric mixer to fill the small kitchen. He can always hear Iwaizumi going through and cleaning the front counter, moving the chairs and tables until they’re properly set. There’s the clinking of glasses as Suna shuffles around in the cabinets, the metal cookie sheets hitting the oven rack. It’s quiet and peaceful and the sun is just barely starting to filter in through the windows, and it’s one of Keiji’s favorite things in the world.

 

            If there were a list, _Mornings before the bakery opens_ would be right below _Mornings just after the bakery has opened._ Because this is when it starts to get bright. Where the sunlight turns from soft to vibrant, and where Suna switches on the radio, and where Iwaizumi finally unlocks the front door, the bells above it jingling. Keiji could perfectly precisely map out the morning routine, and just following Suna bringing out a fresh tray of croissants to the front is the sound of the door swinging open, and the smug look Iwaizumi always gives Keiji as if he has any right to, as if he doesn’t see himself when Oikawa comes waltzing in every other afternoon.

 

            And then—

 

            “Hey hey, Akaashi!”

 

            Keiji tries to be subtle about kicking at Iwaizumi’s ankles until he follows Suna back into the kitchen.

 

            “Good morning, Bokuto-san.”

 

            This is when it starts to get bright — the sun is vibrant and Suna’s music is floating in from the kitchen, and Bokuto Koutarou comes in with the most radiant smile Keiji’s ever seen.

 

            He’s already got the box with Bokuto’s favorite mochi and higashi set off to the side. He’s gotten it ready every morning before the bakery opens for the almost past month now, as soon as he realized that Bokuto would be coming in on a daily basis, and that he’d always want the same thing. Keiji’s never been wrong.

 

            Bokuto comes straight to the counter, leaning on it with folded arms, and beams up at Keiji. Keiji offers a soft smile back.

 

            “Busy morning?” Bokuto asks. They should get stools. Stools for customers to sit at the counter, so Bokuto doesn’t have to stand for the entire time he always stays to talk.

 

            “Just you so far, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says. “How are you today?”

 

            Keiji settles in, leans against the edge of the counter. He wonders if Bokuto would notice again if he put an extra strawberry mochi in the box, if he’d call him out for it like he did last time Keiji tried it. If he’d still refuse the free extra.

 

            Either way, Iwaizumi will give him shit for it. Suna won’t say anything, but he’ll give him the same look Iwaizumi does every time Bokuto comes in, and that counts for a lot. Still, it’s worth it. It’s kind of always worth it when it’s Bokuto.

 

            “Kuroo’s cat ate my shoe,” Bokuto says, propping his chin in his hand. “I woke up to half of it spread across the genkan. So I have to wear these, which don’t fit right, and they kind of pinch my toes. But Kuroo’s also paying this morning, so I guess it’s not _so_ bad. And I needed new shoes anyway, you know?”

 

            Keiji nods in lieu of actually saying anything in agreement. Bokuto’s old sneakers had a hole in one of the toes and frayed laces. His argument for not replacing them before was that he’d just bought brand new volleyball shoes, that he didn’t want to spend money on another pair when his current ones weren’t _totally_ gone yet.

 

            “But I’m going to go get new ones after practice, I think,” Bokuto continues. He reaches out to take one of the paper-wrapped straws in the cup next to the register. Something to fidget with, because Bokuto can never keep his entire body still. “Not grey this time, though, I always get grey. Maybe white? Or _green_. Akaashi, what do you think about green?”

 

            “Green’s a good color,” Keiji replies.

 

            “Yeah! Yeah, it is, it’s like the same as— Same as . . . uh.” Bokuto glances away, gaze flickering over everything else on the counter. It’s another moment before he looks back at Keiji, but he doesn’t continue along the same train of thought when he starts talking again. “Hey, ‘Kaashi, did you see that book store that opened up down the street? Kenma brought it up last night, and I thought, you read a lot, you know? I didn’t know if you knew about it.” Bokuto’s shown him pictures of his hair from how he used to style and spike it, but Keiji thinks he prefers it like this — down and hanging half into his eyes and probably soft to run fingers through.

 

            “I’ve heard about it,” Keiji says. “But I haven’t been.” He’s been meaning to, but there’s the bakery, and the fact that Suna’s gotten him hooked on this stupid drama that he’s spent all his free time trying to catch up on.

 

            “You should go sometime!” Bokuto says. “It’s like— I mean, you’d really like it, you know?” He taps the straw against the counter, and Keiji wonders if he’s the type of person who always clicked his pen during class. _Keiji_ was that type of person.

 

            “I’ll make sure to,” Keiji tells him in complete honesty.

 

            “Hey hey, did you ever get around to picking up that cactus?” Bokuto asks, starting to pick at the paper wrapping the straw. “That lopsided one?”

 

            “Ah, someone took that one before I could get back,” Keiji says. He can’t remember when he told Bokuto about the cactus he saw at the flower shop just around the block — a week ago, maybe? Still, he’s surprised he remembers. Then again, Bokuto always seems to remember everything. “I did get another, though. Has a flower.”

 

            “Really!” Bokuto’s fingers still around the straw. “You have to show me a picture, I want to see.”

 

            “I’ll take one for you,” Keiji promises. “Once I go home. You can see tomorrow.”

 

            Bokuto smiles and nods and slips into another topic, and another soon after. It’s the same routine as always, until a good twenty minutes have passed, and then he’s pushing back from the counter. Keiji doesn’t slip in any extra mochi this time, and he tries to ignore the feeling of his fingers brushing Bokuto’s when he gives him his change.

 

            Iwaizumi’s out as soon as Bokuto leaves, with that shit-eating grin on his face that won’t last once Oikawa’s in.

 

* * *

 

 

            The first time Bokuto came in, he’d been no more than a couple of minutes — making his order, waiting for Keiji to fill it, and then he was out the door. It wasn’t until the fourth visit in a row that he’d started talking to Keiji. Small talk, mostly, asking for his name and about the bakery. It wasn’t until a good week after that that Bokuto started _really_ talking — mindless chatter and scattered questions, and after he left, Iwaizumi gave Keiji that stupid _look_ that he’s so familiar with now. That he knows the _meaning_ of now.

 

            Because it’s like this: Bokuto Koutarou is like— he’s like meringue. Like lemon meringue. He leaves Keiji feeling light and tinted happy, and wanting _more_. He’s got that grin that always crinkles the corners of his eyes, and this bright, loud laugh, and as restless as he is and as much as his voice fills the space, he’s patient. He can go quiet and still when he’s really listening to what Keiji says.

 

            He dresses exclusively in neon.

 

            There are mornings where Bokuto comes in more subdued, sleep still lingering in his expression, leaving the radiance as something more muted. The first of those mornings, a couple weeks after Bokuto started coming, around the time Keiji started pre-packaging his order — that’s when it probably hit Keiji that he had this _thing_ for the bakery’s newest regular. Because there’s something beautiful about Bokuto coming in loud and restless, and something captivating about his tired smiles and slow motions.

 

            He throws in extra mochi the next morning, and doesn’t give Bokuto the chance to count them before he leaves.

 

* * *

 

 

            Keiji’s generally the first one in. He’s usually the one unlocking the back entrance to the bakery, turning on the lights and pulling out all the mixing bowls that they use first every time. He’s the one to put on the first pot of coffee and pick the mugs out of the highest cabinet in the very back corner.

 

            By a good half hour, Keiji’s always first. And it’s a couple weeks later that he’s going through and sweeping up the front of the shop while he waits for the coffee to be ready, when he notices the space under the front awning isn’t empty. Through the window, he can see a familiar figure, shivering and hiding from the pouring rain in the small space just in front of the door.

 

            He flicks the lock and pulls the door open without hesitation.

 

            “Bokuto-san, what are you _doing?_ “

 

            Bokuto bounces on his toes just inside the entrance, arms wrapped around his middle. His hair is dripping.

 

            “Uh, I was on my way home,” he says, eyes darting around the empty bakery. “But then it started raining, and I don’t have an umbrella, and this jacket doesn’t have a hood—“

 

            “It’s five in the morning,” Keiji points out. “You’re going _home?_ “

 

            “I fell asleep at the court,” Bokuto tells him. “Passed out in the middle of cleaning up. I’d normally just stay there and wait until the buses are going, but, well, I didn’t want to get stuck at the bus stop in the rain. That didn’t work out so well, huh?”

 

            “Come in then, you look cold. There’s blankets in the back — Suna-kun keeps them here in case of. Well. _This_.” Keiji pauses to make sure Bokuto is actually following him before going towards the kitchen. It’s too quiet.

 

            He leaves Bokuto to dry off, hang his jacket in the break room, towel off his hair. He pours an extra cup of coffee, thinks that there’s no _way_ he’s going to get out of Iwaizumi’s taunts for this.

 

            “Hey, Akaashi, are you always here this early?” Bokuto asks, coming out of the break room. He’s got the bright blue blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and his hair is sticking up in weird places from the towel Keiji gave him to dry it off. He yawns as he leans against the side of the counter.

 

            “We open in an hour,” Keiji says. “I have to be here this early, so we’re ready by then.”

 

            “Huh. How do you _sleep?_ “

 

            “Not on a gymnasium floor.”

 

            And _there’s_ the laugh that makes Keiji feel light, filling the entire kitchen.

 

            “I should’ve gone back with Kuroo,” Bokuto admits. “But there’s tournaments soon, you know? I wanted to get at least _some_ extra practice in.”

 

            Keiji hums, passes him the extra coffee. “There’s sugar and cream if you want it. How far is your walk from the gym to your apartment?”

 

            “Twenty minutes. But, well, always a little longer in the dark, because the shorter way home doesn’t all have street lights. So, like, half an hour, probably.” He sips at the coffee, glances around the kitchen. “What are you making?”

 

            Keiji rests his elbows on the center counter, lifts his mug to his lips to hide the smile. “Mochi. Strawberry mochi. We’ve been going through it faster than anything else here.”

 

            “Well it’s good!” Bokuto cries. “And maybe if you stopped putting _extras_ in there, seriously, Akaashi, I didn’t pay for them—“

 

            “So then I am,” Keiji cuts in. “Do you want to help? Suna usually does, but he always makes a mess with the strawberries.”

 

            He tries to ignore Iwaizumi’s stare when he comes in twenty minutes later, and finds Bokuto laughing at the counter with flour on his nose, while Keiji’s trying and failing to stifle his own grin. He doesn’t let himself think much of it when Suna goes out to the front with Iwaizumi when he arrives, instead of baking back in the kitchen like he usually does.

 

            There’s no music this morning. Just Bokuto’s laugh, just the rain stopping and the early morning sun starting to slip in.

 

            He leaves just after the bakery opens. When Keiji goes to find the towel to wash later, there’s a napkin sitting on top of it, with a phone number scrawled across it.

 

* * *

 

 

            “New shoes?” Keiji asks as he walks out with Bokuto. He checks the lock to the bakery twice before he lets himself start moving down the sidewalk.

 

            Bokuto nods, grinning. “Got ‘em yesterday. What do you think?”

 

            “They’re nice. Green.”

 

            “I like green,” Bokuto says. His fingers brush against Akaashi’s once, twice. “It’s like— like the color of your eyes.” He nudges their fingers together, linking half of them together. Keiji is _not_ blushing. “Like ‘em better than the white ones. Tesla too, apparently, since she hasn’t destroyed these ones yet.”

 

            Keiji hums, fits his hand properly within Bokuto’s. It’s late, and the air is quiet. There’s the low hush of tires on the pavement as cars pass by, and the buzz of chatter coming out of the cafés and shops they walk past. He likes evenings in the city, where everything is starting to slow down and settle. Bokuto swings their hands between them, and there’s the scuff of his shoes on the pavement, and Keiji lifts his free hand to push the hair out of Bokuto’s face, and it’s just as soft as it looks like it’d be. He knows after they get dinner that they’ll spend the last bits of daylight walking back in the direction of their apartments, that Bokuto’s going to smile against his lips when he kisses him.

 

            If there were a list of Keiji’s favorite things, _Evenings after the bakery closes_ would be right below _Evenings with Bokuto after the bakery closes_. Regardless, it all pales in comparison to _Bokuto_.


End file.
